You Make Me Feel So Dead

by Robert Randisi

He pointed his finger at me.

  ‘If I find out you’re lying—’

  ‘How are you gonna find that out?’ I asked, cutting him off. ‘You don’t even have any witnesses.’

  Hargrove looked at the other detectives for confirmation. They just nodded and shrugged.

  ‘Don’t go away,’ he said to me and Frank. He grabbed one of the responding detectives by the arm and pulled him aside.

  ‘Wanna tell me what happened while my partner’s distracted?’ Martin asked.

  ‘Frank, Joey and me—’

  ‘Joey?’

  ‘Oh, this is our friend, Joey Scaffazza. Joey took a stray bullet.’

  ‘Uh-huh,’ Martin said, ‘a stray bullet.’ He folded his arms. ‘Keep going.’

  I told him the story of being caught in the crossfire between two apparently warring factions.

  Martin looked around, then turned back at me.

  ‘I can’t wait to tell Hargrove this story,’ he said, finally. ‘Wait here.’

  ‘These guys got it out for you?’ Scaffazza asked.

  ‘One of them does, yeah.’

  ‘Not much changes city to city, huh?’

  ‘Nope, not much.’

  ‘They’re gonna find out I’m from LA.’

  ‘There are a lot of people in Vegas from LA,’ I said. ‘Doesn’t mean a thing. Just stick to the story.’

  ‘Ya know, you’re a stand-up guy,’ Scaffazza said.

  ‘As long as you had nothing to do with shooting my friend, you’ll be fine.’

  ‘I swear. Ask Sal. We wasn’t even here.’

  ‘Well, just sit back and relax,’ I said. ‘We’re gonna be here a while.’

  I knew Frank could make a phone call and leave. It was to his credit that he stuck it out with Scaffazza and me. We spent two hours there, and another three at the police station. Hargrove had us taken to his building, claiming the case was an extension of his murder investigation. Since it was going to take forever to collect the witnesses the other detectives did not argue.

  They separated us to see if our stories would hold up.

  Hargrove walked into the interrogation room and sat down across from me.

  ‘You wanna make a phone call, Eddie?’ he asked. ‘Maybe to your buddy Robert Kennedy?’

  ‘We’re not buddies,’ I said. ‘Am I under arrest?’

  ‘Not at all.’

  ‘Then I don’t need a phone call, do I?’

  He questioned me for half an hour, trying to poke holes in my story. I denied, denied, denied any knowledge of what had happened in that club. I didn’t know if the cops were going to be able to collect any witnesses. Certainly they wouldn’t be able to reassemble the customers who were there. I would have been surprised if one of those guys didn’t have a record. It was that kind of club. And the same went for the girls who worked there. There’d be no love lost between them and the cops. If they came up with one witness who would describe Jerry, or ‘Buzz,’ or Sal it would be a miracle.

  I stuck to my guns.

  But in the end I called Kaminsky and he got us out. It was just taking too long. Oh, we all stuck to our stories. Or so I thought.

  Kaminsky came in and said, ‘Come on, you and Frank are out.’

  ‘Me and Frank? What about Scaffazza?’

  ‘Your LA mafia buddy talked.’

  ‘What do you mean he talked?’ I asked.

  ‘Come on, bubula,’ Kaminsky said, ‘Kaminsky wants to get out of here.’

  ‘Yeah, well, Eddie G. wants an explanation.’ I sat back down and folded my arms.

  ‘He confessed.’

  ‘To what?’

  ‘To working with Reynolds on Roselli’s turf.’

  ‘So he’s under arrest?’

  ‘No,’ Kaminsky said, ‘he’s in protective custody. Our other buddy Hargrove is going to try to use him to take down Roselli.’

  ‘What?’ I said. ‘Roselli’s big time. Hargrove is not big time.’

  ‘I know it and you know it. Hargrove, he don’t know it. Anyway, they’re dropping the charges against Danny. They now feel sure Reynolds’ murder was a mafia hit, and Danny was the fall guy.’

  ‘What?’ I was amazed. ‘How did they—’

  ‘What does it matter how?’ Kaminsky asked. ‘Danny’s my client, you’re my client, for tonight even the Chairman of the Board is my client, and I got you all off.’

  ‘I want to talk to Joey.’

  ‘What, you made friends with this schlimazel in one night?’

  ‘We bonded over beer and boobs,’ I said. ‘I want to talk to him.’

  Kaminsky stared at me, frustrated, then said, ‘Wait.’ He shook his head, muttered, ‘Putz,’ and went out.

  SEVENTY-THREE

  I was given five minutes with Scaffazza. He was sitting in an interview room, his hands folded on the table in front of him, looking as calm as could be.

  ‘What are you doing?’ I asked, even before I sat across from him.

  ‘It’s better this way,’ he said. ‘I’m safer in custody than I’d be in LA or Chicago. Or even here in Vegas.’

  ‘Who do you think is gonna come after you?’ I asked. ‘If that was Reynolds’ crew, they’re all dead.’

  ‘Maybe,’ he said, ‘but I can’t trust Johnny, either. I think Sal was gonna kill me. Besides, this’ll help you.’

  ‘Me? Why do you want to help me?’

  ‘You put your life on the line for your buddy,’ he said. ‘You stayed behind to take the heat in that club when you didn’t have to. And you didn’t throw me to the wolves. I told you, you’re a stand-up guy. This’ll get you and your buddy off the hook.’

  ‘For now, maybe,’ I said, ‘but Hargrove will keep coming.’

  ‘Well,’ Scaffazza said, ‘maybe this will get him off your back for a while. It’s the least I can do. You guys were gonna help me.’

  ‘Joey—’

  ‘Hey, listen,’ he said, ‘this satisfies me. It should satisfy you. They droppin’ the charges against your friend?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Good.’

  ‘But I’m still wondering about his gun,’ I said. ‘If the police are convinced his gun killed Reynolds, why would they let him go?’

  ‘Maybe,’ Scaffazza said, ‘they faked that part of the evidence.’

  ‘You mean … they lied?’

  Scaffazza shrugged. ‘They’re cops, ain’t they?’

  ‘But … you’re trusting them.’

  He shrugged. ‘Ya gotta trust somebody some time. As long as I can give them information about Roselli, they’ll keep me alive.’

  ‘What about Giancana?’

  ‘I won’t tell them anything about Giancana,’ Scaffazza said, ‘Just Roselli.’

  I stared at him for a few moments. He did look very satisfied with himself.

  ‘OK, Joey,’ I said, ‘have it your way. Thanks.’

  ‘That’s OK,’ he said. ‘Maybe I’ll come back to town some time. You can show me around.’

  ‘I’ll do that,’ I said. ‘You can bet on it.’

  I knocked on the door to be let out.

  Frank went back to the Sands. He’d had enough for one night.

  ‘I need one more favor,’ I told him.

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘I need somebody in Chicago checked out. Do you know anyone?’

  ‘I got just the guy,’ he said. ‘Gimme your guy’s info.’

  I wrote it out for him. We drove to the hospital, but he had a limo pick him up out front.

  Kaminsky and I went inside. Penny was sitting in the waiting room. When she saw us she got to her feet.

  ‘How is he?’ I asked.

  ‘Still asleep. What time is it?’

  I looked at my watch.

  ‘Six a.m. I was supposed to bring you some food, but … things happened.’

  ‘It’s OK.’

  ‘I’ll get us all some breakfast,’ Kaminsky said. ‘Be right back.’

  I nodded, sat down with Penny.
/>   ‘How did your meeting go?’ she asked.

  ‘Fine,’ I said. ‘Danny’s off the hook for the murder. They’re dropping all charges.’

  ‘What? How? Why?’

  ‘They’re goin’ after somethin’ bigger,’ I said.

  ‘Well … that’s wonderful.’

  ‘But I’m still confused about his gun,’ I said. ‘Unless Hargrove lied – and he’s a lot of things, but not a liar – then how do they have Danny’s gun pegged as the murder weapon?’

  ‘And if they still do, why drop the charges? Eddie, maybe they were lying.’

  ‘I keep thinkin’ about Danny’s gym.’

  ‘His gym?’

  ‘We checked his locker,’ I said. ‘That’s what the extra key was for.’

  ‘What did you find?’ she asked.

  ‘Just what you’d expect to find in a locker at a gym,’ I said. ‘Nothing else. But what if he left his gun in his locker while he worked out and somebody took it?’

  ‘He doesn’t usually do that.’

  ‘But what if he did it that day? Somebody could have taken it out, killed Billy, and put it back.’

  ‘Who?’ she asked. ‘Do you know who did kill Billy?’

  ‘Not exactly,’ I said, ‘but it could have been a hit man sent by Johnny Roselli.’

  ‘Why would he want to frame Danny?’

  ‘So nobody would think it was a hit.’

  ‘I don’t know if Danny went to the gym that day.’

  ‘I’ll ask him,’ I said, ‘some time. You know, we talked to this deputy sheriff who works out with Danny—’

  ‘What? Who?’

  ‘A deputy sheriff named Brewster, Dwayne Brewster. He has the locker next to Danny’s.’

  ‘Eddie,’ she said, ‘Danny doesn’t know any deputy named Brewster.’

  ‘We met him,’ I said. ‘He said he worked out with Danny. Even took us to a juice bar where they sometimes get a drink afterwards.’

  ‘Do you hear what you’re saying?’ she asked. ‘Danny in a juice bar?’

  She was right. The idea was ludicrous.

  ‘I checked his ID.’

  ‘They can be faked,’ she said.

  And then it hit me. Scaffazza’s description of Roselli’s hit man, Bonpensiero. It matched Brewster perfectly, right down to the gut.

  ‘Damn,’ I said. We’d been talking to the guy who probably killed Reynolds. The guy who probably took the gun from Danny’s locker and used it.

  The guy who tried to get me to drink apple juice.

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘Never mind,’ I said. Bonpensiero was probably already back in LA. His job was done. ‘It’s all over now, anyway. Danny’s off the hook, and that’s all we wanted, right?’

  ‘Right,’ she said, ‘well, that and Danny alive.’

  I had told Brewster that Danny was getting out of jail in the morning. He probably figured if he took Danny out, he’d die with the blame for Reynolds’ murder still on him.

  There was no way I was going to LA to hunt down a hired killer. Bonpensiero was out of my league. Besides, Roselli would probably have him looking for Scaffazza now, and leave Danny alone.

  I’d have to be satisfied with what Penny said. Danny was off the hook, and alive.

  EPILOGUE

  ‘What happened with Elvis?’ Roger Bennett asked.

  ‘He went back to Memphis,’ I said.

  ‘Did you see him again? Did you stay friends?’

  ‘I saw him when he came back to Vegas in ’67 to marry Priscilla. And then again in ’69 when the International opened. That’s when he really hit it big in Las Vegas.’

  ‘So you didn’t stay friends?’

  ‘We were friends, Roger,’ I said, ‘but I wasn’t part of the Memphis Mafia. We weren’t that close.’

  Roger and I were in a small restaurant just down the street from our building. It wasn’t a place I’d take a lady friend for dinner, but it was certainly good enough for lunch.

  ‘Hey, I got a question,’ Roger said.

  ‘I thought you’d have a lot.’

  ‘When Elvis hit that guy over the head with that chair, did he kill ’im?’

  ‘You know, he asked me the same thing later,’ I said. ‘It really bothered him. Fact is, all those guys were killed by bullets. Elvis just helped him hit the floor.’

  I sipped my coffee, knowing I was going to pay for it later. I usually had a cup in the morning, and another in the evening. Another by-product of being in my eighties. Coffee was not my friend.

  ‘What about the plate number?’

  ‘That turned out to be Danny’s car, after all. The woman got the plate right, she just wasn’t sure when she saw it.’

  ‘But what about Danny’s shooting?’ Roger asked. ‘Did you ever find out the truth about that? Was it Bon … Bon … what’s his name? The hit man?’

  ‘As a matter of fact,’ I said, ‘it wasn’t …’

  A couple of days after Elvis had gone back to Memphis, and both Frank and Dean had left town, I got two phone calls. The first was from Frank, calling me from Palm Springs.

  ‘Hey, Frank, you back in town?’

  ‘Naw, I’m home. I just wanted to tell you I heard from my guy in Chicago.’

  ‘Oh, OK.’ I’d forgotten I’d asked him to check on Albert Kroner for me. From his hospital bed Danny had told me to stop worrying about Kroner. He’d take care of that case when he got back on his feet. So I did it. I forgot.

  ‘What’d you find out?’

  He told me …

  Later that day I got a call at the Sands from Connie, the bartender in Laughlin.

  ‘Hey, Mr Gianelli? It’s Connie. From the Riverside?’

  ‘Oh, hi, Connie,’ I said. I asked him the same thing I’d asked Frank. ‘You in town?’ Figuring he was coming over for a job interview.

  ‘Naw, I’m still in Laughlin. But you asked me to watch our handy man, Ed Rosette?’

  ‘Yeah?’

  ‘Strangest thing,’ Connie said. ‘I followed him one day—’

  ‘You what?’

  ‘I followed him.’

  ‘Connie, I just meant for you to keep an eye on him.’

  ‘Well, I did, I followed him. And listen to this. He goes to this empty lot and starts shooting this rifle.’

  ‘A rifle?’

  ‘Yeah, a fancy one with a scope? Kinda weird, huh?’ he asked.

  ‘Yeah, weird.’

  ‘That’s what I figured, so I followed him again, did it for a couple of days. And he does the same thing, only get this. Every day he gets better. On the third day, he’s hittin’ his targets – buncha tin cans – every time. Can you imagine a guy gettin’ that good at somethin’ in that short a time?’

  ‘That is strange, Connie,’ I said. ‘Listen, thanks.’

  ‘Yeah, sure,’ Connie said. ‘I, uh, still intend to come to Vegas to apply for that job.’

  ‘You do that,’ I said, ‘and I’ll make sure you get it.’

  Elvis, Frank and Dino might have left town, but Jerry decided

  to stay for a while. He played the ponies. I found him at the Sands sports book and asked, ‘Wanna take a ride?’

  ‘Where?’

  ‘Laughlin.’

  ‘Hey, that’s the place you took Elvis for that ninety-eight cent chicken dinner.’

  ‘That’s the place.’

  ‘Let’s go.’

  I figured the best way to brace Rosette was at work. He wouldn’t expect it.

  He was around the side of the motel, this time, but still using the hose.

  ‘Hey, Rosette!’ I called.

  He looked up, saw me standing there, and straightened. He also saw Jerry standing behind me.

  ‘Whataya want?’

  ‘I want you to drop the act, Albert,’ I said.

  ‘What? What did you call me?’

  ‘I called you by your real name. Albert Kroner. A Chicago lawyer who embezzled two million dollars from his clients.’

  He
laughed. ‘I look like I got two million bucks?’

  ‘You look exactly like a guy who has two million dollars, but doesn’t want anyone to know about it. You also have a job that a guy with a genius IQ, who can learn to do anything in a few days, would have.’

  ‘I don’t know what you’re talkin’ about.’

  ‘We talked to some of your neighbors in Chicago, Albert,’ I said. ‘They didn’t like you much, said you weren’t very friendly. But you know what they each said? You were remarkable. You could teach yourself to do anything in a very short time. One guy said – and get this – that if you ever got disbarred, you’d make a great handy man.’

  He dropped the hose, wiped his hands on his pants. He looked around, maybe for a weapon. I doubt he had the rifle anywhere near the hotel. Maybe in his car.

  ‘After the last time I was here you decided you needed to learn how to shoot, so you bought yourself an expensive rifle – maybe a sniper’s rifle – and you started practicing. Then you came to Vegas and waited for your chance to shoot Danny Bardini. Probably followed me – and you could’ve taught yourself how to do that without being spotted.’

  He didn’t say anything.

  ‘I got a question, Albert,’ I said. ‘How come a genius like you didn’t think to shoot me?’

  He stared at me, licked his lips, then said, ‘I figured you worked for Bardini, and if I got rid of him, that would be the end of it.’ Suddenly, his speech pattern was more like a lawyer than like a handy man. ‘So what now, Mr Gianelli?’

  ‘Now,’ I said, ‘you go back to Chicago to give those people their money back.’

  ‘And if I don’t?’

  ‘My buddy Jerry, here, will break your back.’

  ‘It appears you leave me no choice.’

  ‘Jerry,’ I said.

  Jerry took a step back and waved. Two uniformed police officers appeared and approached Albert Kroner.

  ‘Go with these nice men, Albert,’ I said. ‘They’ll arrange for you to be extradited to Illinois.’

  As the two police officers marched Kroner to their car, Jerry asked, ‘Can we get that ninety-eight cent chicken dinner now?’

  ‘Wow,’ Roger said, regarding me across the table. He wasn’t dressed like Elvis, but he still had the hair and sideburns. It was almost like sitting across from the King. If I put a hat and glasses on him. ‘I guess they were right about you, Mr G.’

  ‘What do you mean?’